


Wandering minds make good bedfellows

by Hexes



Series: Hex'verse Spideypool [1]
Category: Spider-Man/Deadpool - Joe Kelly (Comics)
Genre: Allusions to bloodplay, Avenger Deadpool, Daddy Kink, Deadpool Thought Boxes, Gunplay, Kink negotiation is mandatory, Knifeplay, M/M, No actual sex, PWP, Peter is a cocktease, Pursuit, Sexual Fantasy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-08-09
Updated: 2017-08-09
Packaged: 2018-12-13 10:11:00
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,984
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11757633
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Hexes/pseuds/Hexes
Summary: Wade and Peter are in a Very Important Meeting. Which means Peter is being a cocktease, and Wade is thinking about different ways of fucking him over the table.Plot? Negatory, my good sirs.Un-beta'd.





	Wandering minds make good bedfellows

**Author's Note:**

> Okay.  
> So. There's fantasy gun and knifeplay below, and while it doesn't actually happen, always, always, always consult your partners before doing anything kinky. Like... surprise blindfolds are not okay, but surprise gunplay is super extra mega not fucking okay. Be risk aware and consensual in your kinkiness.  
> Okay. Porn now.

     Peter's hand is resting on the desk while the Avengers talk shop about some damn problem or another. His knuckles are turned the wrong way round, so they face his knees, and the bend of his elbow is jutting the wrong way out. If he were any other person, Wade might have thought that something was broken, or at the very least, extremely uncomfortable. Cap is looking at the offending appendage with a mildly nauseated expression. Bruce says something (Wade stopped paying attention right around the time Peter started leaning over the table), and the distressingly bent elbow folds away easy as pie while Peter bends down over a document. Wade sees Cap’s eye twitch.

     Now, Peter is a clever (baby) boy, and Wade is no stranger to his hijinks, nor his rather passive-aggressive manner of expressing frustration. There's a little too much _innocence_ in the way he presses his shoulder out, making it look like it's on the bleeding edge of just fucking popping out of its socket. Wade grins beneath his mask as Cap exhales raggedly, his gaze skittering away like a scared kitten. Peter looks over at the sound, leaning around so that his knuckles are now brushing the opposite hip, and Wade wishes desperately that he could see the slightly vicious smirk hiding under Peter's mask, the thin, blue marble veins that flare into life in the crook of his elbow when he twists it out like this.

     {Want to see it run red - lick it up, smear it around, swallow him down…} Wade knows the feeling.

     Wade goes from chubby to full stiffy when Peter tilts his head to the side, ostensibly looking at Cap (who's turning progressively more green) but definitely has his eyes on Wade. Peter sighs a question after Cap’s health, and Wade is pretty sure that he's not the only one in the room that suspects that this is Peter’s Bedroom Voice®. Cap misses it though -

     [Thank god - we'd hate to have to kill Captain America.]

     {In this story arc, anyway.}

     - and mumbles some half-assed response that Peter isn't listening to, anyway.

     Peter shifts back on center, dropping his other hand to the table, bending the elbow out, leaning forward, one of his feet tucked up behind the opposite knee, and all Wade can think is how easy it'd be to catch that bent knee up, and onto the table so that -

     [Someone's talking to us.]

     {Un-fuck them! We're busy!}

     Wade pulls himself away from that thought train, and he can _feel_ Peter's amused gaze through both of their masks.

     Wade slips out his balisong, spinning it contemplatively while he forms a response to the partially-heard question that was directed at him. He sees Natasha twitch, her hand eking toward a weapon that's either incredibly well concealed, or M.I.A. He shrugs. He's more interested the way Peter's chin is tilted toward him, perhaps not listening attentively, but definitely watching the knife.

     {Looks like we got baby boy’s _attention_ , if u kno what I mean} - and Wade _does_ know what Yellow means, can practically hear the eyebrow wriggling in the tone of Yellow's voice. Had noticed all on his own that Peter had recently started doing this cute little bashful act whenever Wade started playing with this knife.

     “We fix ‘em up, tie 'em in a bow, and drop 'em off on Thor. They're his baddies, anyway.”

     “How the _fuck_ did you get a fucking butterfly knife in here?!” Tony squawks over him, looking like he's about to pop a gasket. Deadpool chuckles, long, low, and chilling. He shrugs one shoulder, winking with his mask as he tosses the blade up for a vertical suicide opening, catching it with his opposite hand.

     “Keep your dog on a tighter leash, Underoos,” Tony sighs.

     “Weren't a dog the last I looked,” Peter responds sweetly.

     Wade grins victoriously under his mask, giving Peter a dangerous little thank-you show. Various sounds of frustration erupt from multiple Avengers. Wade tunes them back out, staring sidelong at Spidey. He wants to make sure the defender of his honour knows how pleased he is.

     Peter turns his face away from Wade, partially because he's so ridiculously used to the balisong, and partially because he's been getting little frissons of giddy arousal whenever Wade's played with it recently. The smooth, spinning grace, the uselessly showy toss and snatch tricks…  just… yeah.

     Peter thinks he might have a screw loose or something. He side-eyes Wade so hard that the other man chuckles, spinning the handle of the blade around his fingers like a tiny, pointy Ferris wheel.

     [You know he's just humouring us, right?]

     {Baby boy can _humour_ us all night and day if he wants... humour us right over this table.} Wade, for his part, agrees with both White and Yellow. At the same time. _Huh,_ he muses, flipping the balisong over the back of his hand in a zen rollover, _that doesn't usually happen_.

     Peter can _nearly_ hear the lascivious thoughts rampaging through Wade's mind. If he were being honest, he's having an absolute ball playing with Wade's arousal. He leans forward a little farther, curling his pelvis back so that his ass arches up. He knows Wade has A Thing® about his legs and ass, and is perfectly willing to exploit that at the moment.

     Super-hearing has its advantages, as he can detect the minute change in Wade's breathing pattern as Peter puts himself on display. He shifts his foot a little, stroking the back of his thigh as he glances over his shoulder at the mercenary, brushing his chin along his clavicle before turning his face to respond to Bruce's question. Wade feels a vicious stab of jealousy at seeing Bruce blushing on the periphery of his vision.

_He's displaying for me, asshole._

     {We should shove that leg up on the table, cut his suit open, and lick him until he screams.}

     [Doesn't seem like a screamer to me, Yellow.]

     {Fuck you, White.}

     Wade, on the other hand, is wondering just how bad of manners it really would be to fuck Peter with the hilt of the balisong without consulting him first. Tongue fuck him open and begging, then slide the hilt in, leaning up and over his back to tell him what a pretty picture he makes.

     Maybe work him open with a few fingers around the hilt of the knife, getting him loose and needy before fucking him until he collapses on the table and just _takes_ _it_. Wade picks up on White and Yellow's train of thought from earlier. Would Peter be a screamer? Whining, moaning, begging - screaming for daddy? Or would he be one of those quiet ones, where you can only tell that they're enjoying themselves because their thighs are quivering, their nails cutting into your shoulder as they fall apart?

     Wade spins the blade around the hilt of the balisong, chewing the inside of his lip, and entertaining the notion of barebacking his pet spider. He'd place cash money on a bet that neither of them is capable of contracting any type of VI, and he'd love to feel Peter's skin, raw and wet against his aching erection. God, he'd come inside him too, leaving his seed just deep enough inside that it takes a minute to leak back out, and wouldn't _that_ be a sight?

     He'd kick Peter's legs open wider, sink to his knees, and watch. Wait for the first few drops of come to trickle out, perhaps help the process along a little bit; Peter's undoubtedly gorgeous little hole would look perfect stretched and leaking Wade's come all over the barrel of the snub-nosed Taurus .357 that he's managed to sneak into this little circlejerk. _Fuck_ , the mere thought of seeing his own seed dripping down the action of the revolver had him twitching.

    [It'd be a bitch to clean, later.]

    {Shut the fuck _up_ , White: we're having a moment.}

 _I'm_ _having a moment: not you two._

     Maybe he'd slip a condom on it. Probably not - the idea of his come leaking from Peter's aching hole, sliding down the cold steel, dripping into the barrel… maybe he'd drop the ammunition - it's what he had speed loaders for. Help his baby boy relax, let him leak more freely. Wade can taste blood in his mouth where he's chewed open his lip.

     [Meeting’s ending, dipshit. Time to roll out.]

     Steve scatters faster than buckshot, happy to be away from Peter's insanely flexible joints. Wade spins the knife closed and squirrels it away in his magic pouch. He grins evilly at Tony who's obviously still sore about the weapon making it through his “perfect” detector. He spins peevishly (no doubt going off to try to recalibrate the system).

     “I trust that you can find your way out?” He throws over his shoulder, pride smarting to the last.

     “Sneaking off is a speciality of mine, tin man.”

     Tony doesn't bother to respond. Wade is suddenly aware that the room is empty of everyone but he and Peter. Who's perched himself on the table in front of him, thighs spread, one heel hooked on the edge of the table, his arm wrapped around it, his fingers just barely touching the crease where his leg and groin meet. He looks like he's _offering_ , and Wade finally allows himself to moan aloud. The tip of Peter's gossamer-thin boot begins tracing an electric path up the inside of Wade’s left leg, tickling a promise over the outline of Wade’s throbbing erection

 _Because_ of course, _he knows which way I dress..._

     {Pretty sure a satellite could figure out which way we dress at the moment.}

     [And, y’know, literally **everyone** that was just in the room.]

     Peter pins him to the chair, his toes fanning out against the thin material of the boot, kneading Wade's chest. Wade pushes forward, just a little, just to see (he knows he can lift a literal ton, but he's also seen his baby boy hold up a fucking _plane_ ). Peter doesn't even strain, keeping him down with ease.

     “What's on your mind,” He _purrs_ and Wade is now quite sure that Peter can bring the roof down, screaming his pleasure. “Daddy?” He adds when he feels Wade isn't responding fast enough.

     Wade grabs Peter's ankle in a slightly too harsh grip.

     “Why don't I show you, _baby boy_?” he growls, running his other hand over Peter's calf, a delicate counterpoint to the steely grasp on his ankle.

     Peter tilts his chin down, shrugging flirtatiously with one shoulder, and Wade is dead certain that his little minx is looking up from under his lashes behind that damnable mask.

_What a way to go, though._

     “Not here,” Peter whispers, his breath hitching over the last word. He breaks the hold on his ankle with such grace that Wade is suddenly wondering if Peter just _likes_ being held down.

_Fuck._

     [Oh, fuck.]

     {Fuck. Yes.}

     Peter is across the room, caressing the door jamb in a way that Wade really, _really_ wants to feel on his cock.

     “Coming?” His voice is breathy and that's all the motivation he needs to tap the teleporter on his belt and grab Peter's waist, clutching the younger man to his body.

     “Not unless it's inside you,” he breathes against Peter's ear.

     “And what if I want you to pull out - make a mess on me?” Peter's beyond breathy, now. His chest is fluttering, his fingers against Wade’s chest are trembling.

     “No, pet - the fun is in coming inside you, and then bringing the mess out.” Wade shoves thigh between Peter's legs and presses mercilessly. His efforts are rewarded with a tiny moan, and his baby boy doing one of those spider tricks, leaving his arms empty.

     “Catch me,” he challenges and disappears through the door.

     “Oh, I am going to fucking _wreck_ you,” Wade promises to Peter's back, setting off in pursuit.

**Author's Note:**

> >.> So that happened. Not sure if there'll be more of this storyline in specific, because I have two other Spideypool fics kicking around in my unfinished folder (lol, jk, I don't actually keep anything organized). One of them is definitely in this arc, and the other is probably in this arc? I'll know when the characters let me know, I guess.  
> Anyway. Pls to leave comments - especially if I screwed something up.
> 
> In other news, I need a good source for Peter Parker/Frank Castle - I'm just getting back into the Punisher comics after literally sixteen years and I want to see them arguesexing.


End file.
